


Endless Summer

by Diablerie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Omegaverse, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Daddy Kink, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Extreme Underage, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Masochism, Mating Bites, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mild CBT, Sex Crying, Somnophilia, omega-specific anatomy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-15 19:10:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8069284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diablerie/pseuds/Diablerie
Summary: John and Claudia Stilinski make a difficult choice for Stiles. Somehow, the best possible solution involves calling Peter Hale to the hospital, so he can fuck their teenaged son.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cannibalinc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cannibalinc/gifts), [pibroch (littleblackdog)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleblackdog/gifts).



> Canni, I planned to write a different omegaverse fic for you, but this one was much closer to done (and still very gross). I finished it instead of sleeping last night, so omg. I hope you enjoy it. One day I will finish the other fic. Until then... have Endless Summer. (This is fatherhood right?)
> 
> Pib, how could I post porn and not dedicate it to you? ILU.
> 
>  
> 
> **Additional warnings in end notes.**

“Mr. and Mrs. Stilinski. I’m sorry, but there’s nothing we can do.”

“What do you mean _nothing_?” Claudia snapped. “He’s been having symptoms for over a month! He’s been hospitalized for over a week! You said that the hormone therapy should work.”

The doctor winced. “Ma’am. The hormone therapy has an excellent track record, but with _older_ patients. That’s why I couldn’t promise it would work. I wasn’t lying when I told you that it was his best chance. It just wasn’t enough. If you want Stiles to make it, then we’ll need to look at some other, less orthodox, options.”

John stared at the burning candles in the hospital’s sad, little chapel. He clenched his hands into fists and counted his breaths, but neither stopped the shaking. “You say less orthodox, but you really mean… you mean options he’s too young for.”

To her credit, Dr. Villanueva stood her ground this time. “That’s correct. It would have been the first solution we reached for if he’d been a few years older, but at thirteen it’s extremely rare for him to have a pre-bond this strong with someone he barely knows. For the pre-bond to trigger an early onset of his heat cycles….” Her breath whistled out in a rush. “That’s a near medical impossibility and speaks to an absurdly high physical potential with that match. I don’t think you understand exactly how rare this is. I’ve only heard of three other cases in the United States in the last hundred years, and there aren’t many more internationally.”

“And what happened to those other children? Did this ‘less orthodox’ treatment work?” Claudia made an abortive motion towards the doctor, but John took her hands in his, offering what little strength he could. Their family had barely recovered from the trial of her long illness. He couldn’t begin to think of what would happen _after_ , when they knew if Stiles would recover or die. God only knew if Peter Hale would agree to such a thing. Even to save a child.

And that was the problem. Stiles was lovely and precocious, with a smart answer for everything—just like his mother—but he was still a child. No decent alpha would be eager to complete a mating bond with a child, not with all that the bonding process involved, during and after. Sure, it was possible to achieve a full bond without sex, but everyone learned in school that sexual contact stirred up just the right chemical cocktail to make the bond take with the least amount of trouble.

“I admit that it’s not a large sample, but a majority survive if mated within three days of hitting the peak.”

Claudia sucked in a breath, and John wrapped an arm around his wife when her alpha pheromones blasted through the room, trumpeting her distress. “You said that Stiles hit his peak yesterday.”

“I did. You’d already refused surgery and refused to consider anything except hormone therapy and other drugs.” She tapped her fingers against Stiles’ file. “I’m going to be blunt. If you don’t explore other treatments, then we should change his drug regimen to make him as comfortable as possible. Because we’d be waiting for your son to die. Even if we try other treatments, I can’t promise any of them would be successful. You have nothing to lose by trying every possible option left.”

“Claudie,” John croaked. “I think we need to call Peter. The doctor’s right. Asking… asking can’t hurt anything. We tried everything else.”

“We still haven’t tried surgery!”

“No, Claudia. Think of what you’re saying.” He tipped her face up gently, thumbing away her tears. “Could you really make that decision for him? Leave him without his dynamic? Cut out half his reproductive system and force him into a lifetime of drugs and therapy to cope with the loss? With being Null? Just because you don’t like Peter Hale?”

She shoved away from him. “It has nothing to do with my feelings about Peter Hale,” she hissed. “I would do anything to save Stiles’ life, but do you think that’s worse than bonding him to a man over twice his age? Stiles is too young to consent to the surgery _or_ a mating, but we’re his parents. We have to make hard decisions for children.” Tears dripped down her face. “Nothing seems right, John. How are we supposed to choose?”

His son would die unless they made an impossible choice. His wife was looking to him for support, and he didn’t know if he had any to give. He was a failure as an alpha. “Doctor, could we have a few minutes?”

“Of course, but please remember,” Dr. Villanueva hesitated. “You don’t have a lot of time.” She strode away from them with quick, efficient steps. Her sensible heels clacked as she went, hopefully to give another family better news.

John sat down on one of the hard pews. “C’mere, sweetheart. Just let me hold you for a minute?”

“Oh John!” Claudia shuddered and sank into his lap. “He’s our little boy, and I told him such romantic stories about what it would be like to find his mate. I told him it would be like when we found each other. It _should_ be like that.”

He stroked her long hair and rocked her. “I know, Claudie. This isn’t what anyone expected, but I can’t just… mutilate him. He’s old enough that he’ll always know what he’s missing. Maybe he’ll always feel like we stole something from him, no matter what we choose. I don’t know. But. I can’t help but think that the bond should be our first choice. If it doesn’t work, then there’s always the surgery.”

“I didn’t tell you, but I researched his condition. I know more about those other cases than most people who aren’t doctors. She downplayed so much. She didn’t even tell us that he could bond and still not stabilize.” Claudia choked. “I can’t even imagine bonding and then losing it because I had a ptheidectomy.” She laid her head against his shoulder. “It’s so much to be this responsible for another person’s life. I thought we were done being terrified about parenthood, but this is… It’s enormous, John. To know we can’t be wrong, that we need to make a good decision.”

They sat in silence on the pew and stared at the flickering candles in the alcove. John continued to pet Claudia’s long hair, stirring up the familiar scent of oranges and jasmine to combat the miserable stench of despair and cleaning fluid.

“You and the doctor are right. We need to call Peter. If he won’t help, then all of this angst becomes moot.”

“Okay, then,” he muttered, burying his face in her dark hair. “Time’s wasting. Let’s do it.”

* * *

If Peter admits the truth, to himself if no one else, then the desperate, begrudging call John Stilinski makes is what he has been waiting for all month. 

Though Stiles enters his life, unlooked and unasked for, Peter is no fool. The signs of little Stiles Stilinski ripening too soon and fixating on him have been so clear and obvious that Peter has even begun to revise his long-term plans to include him.

Peter is no fool, and he's grown more and more incredulous at the Stilinski’s delay as the month has crept inexorably towards the danger zone. He doesn’t know how they’re able to labor under their dangerous delusions. Such a strong imprinting can only be ignored to the pair’s detriment, so when he receives the call to make his way to Beacon Hills Memorial, he goes without hesitation or bargaining.

As it is, John and Claudia’s insistence on _alternative_ options means that they’ve waited almost beyond the eleventh hour, and Peter’s almost too late to salvage the situation—to save his future mate.

Everything hinges on this attempt.

Lying on his side, Peter presses his naked body to as much of Stiles’ skin as possible, curling himself around the much smaller boy. He takes deep, huffing inhalations right against the soft, fragrant skin under Stiles’ ear, nosing along his neck, practically drunk on the smell of his mate.

The heavy pheromones surrounding them and the sweat-dewed temples almost make up for the sterility of the heat room. Even though it’s designed for fucking, no one forgets they’re in the hospital… but all of that fades to the background when Peter focuses on the steady beat of Stiles’ pulse under thin skin and the itch in his gums urging him to bite.

Without thought, his claws lengthen, pricking the vulnerable underbelly of the still-sleeping Stiles. Peter is meant to be waiting for the drugs to work their way out of Stiles’ system, so he can be awake before the mating. That’s what Peter agreed to do, but what the alpha _wants_ is to take the tasty morsel of prey that’s spread so trustingly in his hands, to rip and tear and _own_ the boy that calls to the wildness in his blood.

After a week of agony, Stiles lies still and bare in Peter’s arms, finally resting. In this state, he remains blissfully ignorant of how close danger stalks. Stiles lets out a tiny sigh and turns his head, bringing his face to Peter’s collarbone, and that seems to be an answer in itself.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Peter croons. “It’s time to wake up.” He indulges the innate need to possess by sucking and biting marks in a trail up Stiles’ neck—teasing himself with the bite that’s yet to come. The marks soothe the bestial urges of his hindbrain, and more blood flows to his already hard cock. It jerks twice, ready and eager, smudging sticky spots on Stiles’ back. Peter groans at the slow trickle of pre-ejaculate. He’s nearly bursting, and this is only from brushing up against his sweet omega.

He needs to be inside of Stiles—has needed it for the _last month_ —but he’ll settle for now.

Peter nuzzles Stiles’ temple, enjoying the velvety prickle of his buzzed hair. “We won’t get to do this again until you’re older, but even if you sleep the whole way through, you’ll always know what you’re missing when you fuck yourself with a pale imitation of my cock. Nothing will ever feel quite like my knot, my teeth, buried in you.” He strokes down Stiles’ thin, boyish chest, over sharp collarbones, swollen nipples, and fragile ribs, marvelling at the beauty of his young mate. “Oh Stiles. I’m going to own your sweet cunt and ass and you’ll be ruined for anyone else.”

He rests blunt fingertips at Stiles’ hole, rubbing firm and slow over the slackened muscle. The erratic drip of _virgin_ omega slick flows faster under Peter’s ministrations. He gathers the precious drops with his fingers, and eases one finger inside of Stiles, feeding the slick back to the source.

Peter groans low in his chest, hips jutting once as a second finger joins the first. Inside, Stiles burns; his inner fire has been stoked past gentle spring and into the inferno of scorching summer, all youth and vigor. Peter can’t compare the fever-hot suction to anything or anyone he’s ever had before. 

It feels like coming home. It feels like _his_.

At the third finger, Stiles tightens around Peter and moans, high and thin—on the ragged edge of desire and revulsion. One weak hand twitches back, but Peter catches it, caging the bird-thin wrist with a thoughtful hum. He angles the fingers buried in Stiles and drags them unerringly over his prostate.

“That’s right, Stiles,” he encourages. “Your alpha’s here to make everything better.”

Stiles trembles at this new sensation, unprepared for the heady pleasure a knowledgeable alpha can offer. “Oh!” he gasps. “What’s…”

“Hello, sweetheart.” Peter rewards his conscious mate with a firm nip to the back of the neck, scraping the half-dropped point of a fang over the skin. “You’re here in time for the main event.”

“Main event?” he chokes out in between whimpers. “Peter? Wha—ohmygod!” Stiles sobs as the tips of Peter’s fangs break skin, sending a short, sharp orgasm through him.

“Very good, Stiles.” Peter kisses him on the mouth this time, dipping his tongue inside and twisting around Stiles’. The hormone-rich saliva overrides the staleness of unbrushed teeth, but Stiles tastes good even without the hormones clouding Peter’s senses. With regret, Peter withdraws his tongue to nip at the pretty red mouth under his for long moments before he’s driven to return to hard, crushing kisses, smothering Stiles’ cries with his lips. Peter counts his mate’s lack of participation as a small price for the muffled whimpers of confused pleasure as he continues thrusting fingers against Stiles’ swollen prostate.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” Stiles wails, erupting in distressed hiccups. “I just. I just. I want it to stop. _It hurts._ Help me.”

“Shhh, darling. Alpha’s here to help.”

“But mom and dad are my alphas.” His voice quivers, but Stiles’ own body recognizes the truth of Peter’s statement. He arches into Peter’s touch, rocking into the fingers spearing him open for a knot. Stiles is delightful low-hanging fruit and so sweet for all that he’s barely ripe. No one can blame Peter for wanting this, for reaching out to pluck him from the branch.

Stiles sounds so bewildered that perhaps he deserves a reward, something to make the situation easier. Peter lets go of Stiles’ wrist and wraps his hand around the chubby, little omega cock straining away from the silky thatch of hair at Stiles’ groin. He tugs it in a soft, easy counterpoint to the fingers working in Stiles’ ass, but Stiles is much too young, _much too omega_ , for it to approach a handful. With the slightest stretch, Peter can jack him and reach down to the flushed, pouting folds guarding the vestigial cunt that is the hallmark of all male omegas. As he breaches the labia, Stiles releases a fresh flood of slick from both of his holes.

“Ahhh,” Stiles moans. “Peter?”

“They are your alphas,” Peter agrees, using the extra fluid to wiggle a fourth finger into the rim stretched around his hand. He’s _so close_ to having it all. “But you started a pre-bond with me. And they agreed to let me mate you for your health.” Stiles groans in discomfort at the sudden stretch, but Peter holds him through it, wet fingers sliding insistent and slippery over the head of his cock, dipping them in and out of Stiles’ untried, little pussy. “I’m going to fuck you and bite you and make you my mate.”

“But…”

“Shhh. Sweetheart. If it’s easier for you, then you can call me Daddy. I’m here to help you and love you just like they are.”

Stiles breathes heavily, body twitching as he attempts to parse Peter’s words despite the relentless stimulation. “And that will fix me… Da—Daddy?”

“Oh, Stiles. You’re perfect the way you are.” Peter swirls his pinky finger just inside Stiles’ cunt to hear his breath hitch. “But yes. This will make you feel much better, baby,” he purrs.

Stiles brings one of his hands to hover by his cock. “Can—can I help?”

“Of course, sweetheart. It’s only natural to touch yourself.” Peter retreats to Stiles’ cunt, able to press deeper without the concern of stroking a cock at the same time. Stiles grips himself with shaky fingers, but he appears to know what he likes. “Does that feel good, Stiles? Touching your tiny baby cock while your alpha daddy fills you up and gets you ready to take his knot?”

“Uh huh.” Stiles pants in exertion, his pheromone production in overtime as he hurtles towards another orgasm. After this one, he’ll be ready for Peter. “Wanted you.”

“Did you?” Peter prods, curious what information he can draw out of Stiles in this incoherent state.

“Had pretty eyes,” he whines, pulling his cock harder, pinching the tip with a force that would make Peter lose his erection. “You smelled good. At the store…” Stiles sobs and thrashes, tears leaking from his eyes as cum dribbles from poor, abused cockhead. “Bumped you on purpose.”

“Is that so, sweetheart?” Peter coos at the trembling, weepy omega slumped on his chest. “Did you want Daddy to notice you and make you his? Take you home and show you all the best ways to hurt your little cock?”

“Yeah, I wanted you.” Stiles nods frantically, clinging to Peter’s arm. He whimpers, loud and broken, when Peter slips his hands away, leaving him empty, bereft. “Come back, Daddy. Please,” he begs, uncaring that Peter’s already nudging his heavy, adult cock up to his ass, nestling the head inside of the summer swelter of his omega’s heat.

“Be still, sweetheart.” Peter gasps, guiding his cock further into the plush warmth. Slick squelches around his shaft as he slides deeper. “Just be still and let me…”

He groans as Stiles wraps around his cock, the rim kissing his sensitive knot. Peter hisses at at the ripple of untested muscles gripping him, attempting to milk an orgasm out of him—Stiles’ whole body begging to be fucked raw and bred by his alpha.

“Daddy!” Stiles strains in Peter’s hold, struggling to take him down to the knot even though Peter’s fingers bite into his slim hips. “Alpha! Fuck me fuck me fuck me,” he chants, driven mindless by his heat, by Peter. “You promised.”

Peter smirks despite the almost overwhelming need to plow into the pliant body he’s so painstakingly prepared for himself. He chuckles in appreciation and drives his hips forward, forcing the edge of his knot past Stiles’ rim. “I do like you, Stiles.”

Stiles keens at the new stretch and jerks, uncertain about the extra girth. Peter hisses when Stiles tightens too quickly, allowing his knot to slip free. “I like you too,” Stiles whimpers. “It's—you’re too big, Daddy. It hurts.” 

“Bear down, baby,” Peter grits out. “You’re a good boy. You can take it, Stiles. Just a little more, and you’ll feel better. Don’t you want to get well?”

Stiles rolls his hips within Peter’s grip, unsure about taking the knot back into his body. Shivers rack his body as he tenses and releases the muscles holding Peter’s cock captive. He sniffles wetly and tosses his head, even as his rim grows soft, accepting the shocking intrusion. “‘m good. Wanna get better.” Stiles hiccups. “Need more.”

“See,” Peter moans, easing his swelling knot into the sweetly accepting boy hiccuping and crying beside him. “You do know how to be good.” Peter rocks his hips forward, settling his knot as a steady pressure on Stiles’ prostate and murmurs, “Daddy’s little sweetheart.”

“Ahh,” Stiles whimpers. “Daddy. Alpha. Fuck me.”

“Harder?” Peter gives a vicious thrust, ripping a cry from Stiles’ throat. “Deeper?” He slows down, pulling Stiles into the cradle of his hips, fully seating him on the knot. “Or maybe…” In a swift move, Peter pulls out and rolls Stiles to his belly before lifting his hips and slamming back inside.

“Peter!” Stiles claws at the sheets and lies prone, yielding to Peter’s will. “Touch me,” he pleads. “My cock. Make it hurt. Wanna come.”

“You’re so sweet for me,” Peter mutters, feverish with lust, drunk on Stiles’ willing submission and appetite for pain. “I hoped you would be.” Free to be rough with his delicate, human mate, Peter grabs the tiny cock that’s still hard and leaking for him. He swipes some the wetness onto his fingers and pinches the tip, the same spot and pressure that he had seen Stiles use earlier. Stiles’ shoulders sag further into the mattress. He cries at the pain, but it doesn’t stop him from bouncing his ass in time to Peter’s rhythm, moaning every time the tight balls slap the backs of his thighs. _So perfect._ “Daddy’s precious pain slut.”

“More,” Stiles demands, half out of his head. “Please!” He dissolves into racking sobs and waits, trusting that Peter, _his alpha_ , will give him whatever he needs, and Peter is helpless to deny his mate. 

_Soon._ He’ll bite Stiles soon, tying them together always.

“I need you to be still now, or I can’t give you what you want.”

Immediately, Stiles goes rigid. He holds his sobs back through sheer force of will, setting a fine, subtle tremor running through his body, but it’s close enough to still for Peter’s purpose. With precise control, his knot blooms, locking them together as he fills Stiles. In the distraction, Peter shifts his fingers by degrees, twisting around Stiles’ cock head, until he can extend the tip of his claw and set it on the slit. Carefully, working around his tiny, reflexive hip spasms, Peter drags the claw over the slit—wet with Stiles’ slick and semen—tracing the slight groove, taunting Stiles with the threat-reward of something hard and sharp in a terrifying place while he’s unable to escape.

In this headspace, all Stiles seems capable of is milking Peter’s knot and taking whatever Peter decides he should have. He muses, “I could shove my claws in you right now, and you’d let me.”

Stiles moans in blissed out affirmation. The muscles in his back shiver and bunch in reaction to Peter jabbing a slightly more dull claw into the opening. “Alpha?” His voice hoarse from crying.

“I won’t do that today,” Peter assures him. “Probably never… but I can’t help having _urges_.” Peter trails another claw over the short shaft. “You bring out the wolf in me.”

“Daddy?” Stiles stretches his neck out, tilting his head to the side to better expose his carotid artery. “Claim me. Give me your teeth.”

“You little minx.” His fangs drop. “Hold still. This is going to hurt, Stiles.” Peter lunges forward, snapping his hips and shoving Stiles’ cock through his vice grip, retracting claws at exactly the right moment to skim over flesh without slicing. Stiles screams, long and loud, and Peter closes his jaws. He bites down hard, claiming Stiles and setting off another short orgasm amidst the aftershocks. It’s enough to make Stiles fall silent and limp under his bulk; the intensity of his heat and mating too much for Stiles to keep conscious now that his body knows it’s out of danger.

Moving like an old man, Peter dislodges his fangs from Stiles’ throat and admires the new, permanent marks. Soon, they’ll scar over, but they’re beautiful for now—lurid purple and red, oozing blood. With relish, Peter licks the blood from his lips and cleans the neat puncture wounds. He shudders at the taste of _mate_ and eases them both back onto their sides to wait out the knotting period. Peter soothes the troubled furrow of Stiles’ brow with delicate pinches to his neglected nipples. 

Peter checks the time and blinks. The entire mating had hardly lasted half an hour. In the rush and stress of the first knotting, there are a lot of things he skipped. He lets his hands wander from the swollen nipples and down to Stiles’ cunt. Still soaking wet and needy for his attention. Clearly, his duty as an alpha hasn’t been executed if his omega is still wanting. Peter lowers his head to suck at the bite mark.

If he can’t make Stiles come at least twice more before his knot goes down, then he won’t be able to call himself an alpha. After all, Peter did promise to give Stiles something to remember until the next heat he’s allowed to soothe.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, Pib and Bones, for doing a quick and dirty edit. There are probably still mistakes. Sorry about that, everyone.
> 
> The original concept was a riff on Lifetime movies, but everything changed as I wrote while sleep deprived. The rest of the story I planned doesn't make sense anymore, so I'll let it stand as a oneshot and be content with what I've done.
> 
>  
> 
> **Additional warnings:**
> 
>  
> 
> In case you're on the ledge about reading this fic... Stiles is 13. Stiles can't consent legally or medically. Or... literally since Peter starts while he's still drugged into unconsciousness. Obviously, Stiles is into it, but that's because magic sex pheromone magic. Did I mention the magic? 
> 
> So. To sum it up: Peter is dtf a 13 y/o in a medically induced not-coma. Also, there's some consensual dick pinching and general gross behavior on Peter's part. Read on if you're cool with that.


End file.
